Harry Potter & the Overlooked Princess (teaser)
by DaniNatureGirl313
Summary: I'm still working on the story itself, but my excitement has led me to create this little tidbit before publishing the rest. This is basically a typical Sunday afternoon between Severus and the daughter I've given him, Persephone. It's set the day before he meets w/ Peter, Bellatrix, & Narcissa in "H-B.P.".


"**Harry Potter & the Overlooked Princess" (teaser)**

At first glance, the girl who just walked past you looks completely normal. She wears a dark blue t-shirt, coordinating dark jeans, and sneakers. There's a tattoo on her left shoulder, half-concealed by the sleeve of her shirt: a doe drawn in emerald and silver ink. She's got an athlete's body, which every male in viewing distance is unashamedly ogling. Her flawless skin is a shade-and-a-half lighter than what's typically considered normal, but not pale enough to be called sickly. Rough guess, you'd say she's about 5'6 or 5'7 in height. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes are a uniquely light shade of bluish-green, like the sparkling fountain Princess Jasmine dipped her hand into as she claimed to "not have any real friends". She wears barely any makeup, just some liner to highlight her beautiful eyes further, and a glittering mulberry-colored gloss on her always-pursed lips. Her hair, though, is a complete deviation from all that. Where her skin and eyes convey fairness, her hair does the exact opposite. Her hair is jet-black, as black as black could possibly be. In the sun, it shines like a raven's wing, always looking velvety-soft. It's styled into a perfect braid right now, draped over her right shoulder.

She pauses mid-step to check her watch, only to roll her eyes when she realizes that she'd forgotten to wear one that day. Then, out of nowhere, she walks over to you and politely asks for the time. Her voice is smoky, deeper than most girls, but not nearly deep enough to be called manly. Her accent is thick, a British girl to the hilt. When she gets her answer, she's equally polite in thanking you and saying good-bye. She walks around to the back of a nearby building, where you think she's parked her car. Seconds later, you hear a somewhat loud whooshing noise. When you investigate out of curiosity, you're shocked to find nothing. There's no fading noise of an engine, no grease stains on the asphalt, not even the tread markings of a car's tires. All that remains is the small bit of black smoke, wafting aimlessly around in your immediate area. Smoke…well, that's a bit odd, isn't it?

Not long after _dis_appearing, the young woman _re_appears in an older section of town. Most of the homes there have been around since the fifties, but some may be up to twenty years older than that. She mutters under her breath, "Spinner's End, home again", giggling softly at her rhyming attempt. She walks over to one particular home, calmly slipping her key in the lock and opening the door. As she goes inside, the tips of her shoelaces lightly tap against the hardwood floor. Walking into the kitchen, she sets her purse and grocery bags down on the counter and calls out, "Dad? Dad, where are you? Dad?" Finally, she gets an answer, which comes quite muffled up through the floor. A very deep voice replies to her, "I'm down here, child." Giving a slight smile, she walks through the house's tiny library, leaving a copy of a newspaper called _The Daily Prophet_ next to her father's favorite armchair. If looking closely enough, one would notice something strange about the pictures within that paper…they're _moving_.

She reaches the door that leads to the basement, turning the knob and slowly descending a long flight of carpeted stairs. Now to be clear, this isn't just any ordinary basement. Oh, no, not at all. This basement isn't filled with old furniture, antiques, and holiday decorations. Well…not the decorations, anyway. And it really depends on how you define furniture and antiques. There's a small couch, a black office-type chair, a couple more bookshelves filled to capacity, and most notably…a very, very large wooden table. It's cluttered, full of what appear to be instruments tailor-made for a specific kind of science…a science that's technically not supposed to exist, or is thought of as a mere fairytale. The cupboard behind it runs in that same vein, jars upon jars of things from animals no-one's ever heard of sitting on its shelves. Unicorn hair, dragon spit, scales of this creature and fur of that one…honestly, who _thinks_ of this stuff? Is this for real? Oh, it's real. It's _very_ real, and it's a major part of these two people's lives.

A lone figure stands slightly hunched over this same table, his back to her as he works. He's so deeply absorbed in what he's doing, but that's not enough to stop him from throwing "Productive trip, dear" over his shoulder in a questioning tone. "Yes, it was. I have everything I need to make our traditional Sunday spaghetti dinner." Though she can't see it, she can still sense him smiling.

The girl's father looks so different from her in terms of fashion. While she looks every inch the modern early-twenty-something, he looks like he's just stepped out of a Victorian melodrama. His entire outfit perfectly matches the black hair both of them have. It's also somewhat tight to him and covered in lots of buttons wherever they're required. The sleeves of his jacket are long, reaching down to brush his knuckles. Luckily, they don't interfere with his work. After all his years as a potions master, and thus being accustomed to these activities, he knows how to work around even the slightest possible difficulties.

His skin is like hers, as are his mouth, and the size and shape of his eyes. His nose isn't, though, nor is his eye _color_. His eyes are an extremely dark shade of brown, one step away from being black. His voice is much, much deeper than hers, too…deep enough to scare the pants of his students with his slow enunciations of certain words. Glancing over his shoulder again, he casts another tiny smile at his daughter as she walks up and plants a quick kiss on his cheek, which he returns.

Careful not to damage anything, the girl gently moves some items aside, before hoisting herself onto the table. She crosses one leg over the other, leans back on her hands, and asks, "So…what are you working on?" He describes it to her, saying, "I want to somehow incorporate this into a lesson when this next school year starts. I have to meet your godmother, her sister, and Peter tomorrow for something important, and I wanted to get this out of the way." The girl nods in understanding. She'll be out of the house by then, to spend time with friends at a movie, so why would she care about this? She smiles at the mention of her godmother. But a mention of the woman's sister in the same breath provokes a somewhat less positive response, which earns an under-his-breath chuckle from her father. She rolls her eyes at his light teasing. She'd rather not spare a thought for the man named Peter, who's always somewhat unnerved her. However, thinking of her godmother's son makes her smile again. This will be his sixth year at the boarding school where her father's a teacher.

Yes indeed, from the outside world looking in, these two seem like any typical father and daughter. But they're not. Nothing about them is normal. They're highly respected by the peers in their community, known as a very powerful witch and wizard. The school the man teaches at is called Hogwarts, and was built a really, really long time ago to train others like them. He's keeping a secret from his daughter about that meeting tomorrow, a meeting with a subject that's been just over a decade-and-a-half in the making. One of them doesn't know it yet, but the trials of this year will bring a great strain to their, up-till-now, extremely strong relationship. Severus and Persephone Snape are in for one wild ride.


End file.
